Day 13 : Jenner, CA - Mill Valley, CA
Bike: Specialized Roubaix
Miles ridden: 75.8
Total elapsed mileage: 826.7
Time in saddle: 5:58
Average speed for day: 12.6
Maximum speed for day: 36.1
Today we lost Sean's company. Bob and I arrived back in Jenner at 8:30 after a pleasant drive from Santa Rosa and shortly found Sean. He had spent an overpriced and not particularly comfortable night in a B&B, had not had breakfast and was still feeling pretty beaten up from the previous day's marathon. After some discussion between the two of us and a reassessment of Sean's motives and goals, he said he would ride the 43 miles to Point Reyes Station, then reclaim his panniers and other gear from Bob at noon, take a long rest, then make his way to San Francisco for the rest of the 4th of July weekend.
But it was not to be quite like that. Sean was flagging before the day really began, and by the time we reached Tomales, at 11:30 and still 16 miles from Point Reyes Station, he insisted I go on and said he would catch up when he could. I did so, but at 12:00 I called Bob and asked him to head back north until he met Sean and bring him in, and we arrived in the boutique- and Saturday farmers' market-rich crossroads of Point Reyes Station at about the same time, 12:40. A grateful Sean bought us lunch and readily accepted our offer for Bob to drive him to Sausalito, our chosen day's end point, so he could ride across the Golden Gate and enter San Francisco, one of the cherished life goals of this Colorado-born and -raised 41 year-old, who had never seen the sea until his first day out of Astoria. We exchanged emails and promised to keep in touch. He also promised to follow this blog.
Rather than try to replicate my 1961 day's run and end in Stinson beach, I followed Adventure Cycling's map advice to take a more inland route to enter Marin County from the northwest. After a challenging, sometimes hot (low 90s) and highly varied ride that took me from 3.5 miles of paved forest trail through rural and then suburban communities to fast, four-lane highways, and after wasting about five miles and 25 minutes on a wrong turn and a missed turn, I arrived in Mill Valley, a few miles short of Sausalito but where we were to spend the night with a cousin of Bob, at 4:40, and he arrived with cousin at about 5:00 and brought me in. A shower and glass of wine never felt or tasted better, and our hostess's spare ribs and corn on the cob truly hit the spot.
Bob assured me that I had made a good choice in following Adventure Cycling's advice rather than replicating my 1961 route through Stinson Beach and over the Coast Range to Sausalito. Fourth of July weekend being upon us, traffic was heavy all the way, there was no place to stop, much less to park, in Stinson Beach, and the road over the top was harrowing, poorly maintained and clogged with bumper-to-bumper traffic.
With today's greater-than-anticipated mileage we are again ahead of what I programmed. If I add ten miles to my planned day's run tomorrow and again on Monday, we can shuttle to Morro Bay Monday afternoon-evening rather than Tuesday and, I hope, arrive in Long Beach/Newport Beach as early as lunchtime Saturday, July 9th, day 20 of the Half-Century Ride.
Didn't speak to any other riders today, but saw or crossed paths with many. Our day's itinerary, at least from Bodega Bay (where Alfred Hitchcock's The Birds was filmed, if memory serves me), is apparently very popular with riders from the Bay area. Point Reyes Station is clearly a popular rendezvous place for men and women in lycra and on high-end bikes.
Until tomorrow,
The Phantom Cyclist
Saturday, July 2, 2011
Friday, July 1, 2011
Day 12 - Fort Bragg, CA - Fort Ross, CA
Day 12 - Fort Bragg, CA - Fort Ross, CA
Bike: Specialized Roubaix
Miles ridden: 85.5
Total elapsed mileage: 750.9
Time in saddle: 6:28:26
Average speed for day: 13.1 mph
Max speed for day: 39 mph
July 14, 1961 - Got a very early 8:00 start this morning after breakfast of Raisin Bran. Spent an enjoyable hour at historic Fort Ross from 11 to 12. Mountains not as bad as people led me to believe. Foggy and damp and windy from NW. Met a college student, 28, who doesn't appear a day older than myself, and rode last ten miles with him. From U. of Colorado. Bought crud in Marshall and split box of milk with friend and had chicken and cake and a peach. Am in Stinson Beach S.P.. Now I must clean up and turn in. I make the big Foggy Town tomorrow. I am about 16 miles from the Golden Gate. No change in schedule foreseen. Made 95 miles.
P.S. 11:00 P.M.
I have been most rudely banished. My map showed overnight camping, and having entered from the back, was not told otherwise. But alas, at ten o'clock, my smiling ranger came and told me the place to camp was six miles away, all uphill. I looked around for a while, then got a motel. I have a small but clean and warm room with no bath (actually shared bath with another room) for $3.00. It will be worth it to sleep in a bed. I still have $32. I should easily get home on $10.
Mountains not as bad...?!! Either I wrote the understatement of my youth or there has been a tremendous amount of upthrust in that part of that Coast Range in the last 50 years. After having seen it all on the Oregon headlands and crossing from Leggett to the coast yesterday, the stretch from Fort Ross to Jenner took the cake. It is a monster - narrow road with tight curves, some without guardrails on the sea side, little to no shoulder, a vertiginuous 700-800-foot drop to the rocks and water below, a leg-burning ascent followed by a brake pad-burning descent - in sum, not something that riding companion Sean (still with me) or I care to tackle first thing tomorrow morning or that Bob is willing to drive over again to deliver us to today's end point at Fort Ross, then again cross southbound toward tomorow's planned destination. In short, faithful readers, please forgive me my planned sin of omission, but discretion, in this case, is the better part of valor: I ain't doing it again in 2011.
Got off a little after 8:30 in fine, cool, sunny, dry weather with the northwest wind building and put the hammer down. Country generally gently rolling, but the coastal plateau is broken often by streams that required us to drop down to the left to cross them then grind our way back up to the right to our original level on the far side and continue on our way. Once we were on the plateau again, the wind was our friend, its 20-miles per hour-plus at our backs providing for long stretches of 20 miles per hour-plus bike speed. We stopped for liquids and, for Sean, a sandwich at the one store in the one-time lumbering boom town of Elk (there are few trees left on the coastal plateau now). Bob caught up with us during ur third hour and we topped up our fluids and agreed to meet in Fort Ross. The rest of the day was wearing and we were very happy to see the blue Jeep SAG vehicle on a pullout ahead around 4:30.
Sean found lodging and planned to eat in the very small town of Jenner and Bob and I continued down the coast and inland to a pre-reserved motel in Santa Rosa. We'll leave early tomorrow morning to rejoin Sean at about 8:30 and continue on our way south. Met no other riders today.
In trying to reconstruct my love affair with spoke ponies (Sean's term), I keep coming back to a vague memory of coasting down a sand dune road in Nantucket on a two-wheeler, with my parents, when I was probably five or six. At a speed of maybe twelve miles per hour, it was the fastest I had ever moved under my own power, and the thrill was overwhelming. I bought my first English racer three-speed when I was about nine and wore it out in the three years we lived near Oak Harbor. It was followed by a J.C. Higgins (an extremely shoddy Sears product) newsboy bike, used for that purpose both in rural Hawaii and in suburban Long Beach, delivering the afternoon papers. I probably saw my first ten-speed, derailleur bike in 1959 and when I realized my savings could cover the $100 purchase price of a Schwinn Continental in the summer of 1960, I was hooked for life.
Oh, as for that warped leather seat on the Continental: it bothered my grandfather a lot more than it bothered me. He warned me several times that it would do me bodily harm, but what did he know? He was 70 years old, and the bike he rode from his house in Buena Park to work as a volunteer blacksmith at Knott's Berry Farm had a seat like the one on the Farmall tractor he had taught me to drive when I was eight.
Bike: Specialized Roubaix
Miles ridden: 85.5
Total elapsed mileage: 750.9
Time in saddle: 6:28:26
Average speed for day: 13.1 mph
Max speed for day: 39 mph
July 14, 1961 - Got a very early 8:00 start this morning after breakfast of Raisin Bran. Spent an enjoyable hour at historic Fort Ross from 11 to 12. Mountains not as bad as people led me to believe. Foggy and damp and windy from NW. Met a college student, 28, who doesn't appear a day older than myself, and rode last ten miles with him. From U. of Colorado. Bought crud in Marshall and split box of milk with friend and had chicken and cake and a peach. Am in Stinson Beach S.P.. Now I must clean up and turn in. I make the big Foggy Town tomorrow. I am about 16 miles from the Golden Gate. No change in schedule foreseen. Made 95 miles.
P.S. 11:00 P.M.
I have been most rudely banished. My map showed overnight camping, and having entered from the back, was not told otherwise. But alas, at ten o'clock, my smiling ranger came and told me the place to camp was six miles away, all uphill. I looked around for a while, then got a motel. I have a small but clean and warm room with no bath (actually shared bath with another room) for $3.00. It will be worth it to sleep in a bed. I still have $32. I should easily get home on $10.
Mountains not as bad...?!! Either I wrote the understatement of my youth or there has been a tremendous amount of upthrust in that part of that Coast Range in the last 50 years. After having seen it all on the Oregon headlands and crossing from Leggett to the coast yesterday, the stretch from Fort Ross to Jenner took the cake. It is a monster - narrow road with tight curves, some without guardrails on the sea side, little to no shoulder, a vertiginuous 700-800-foot drop to the rocks and water below, a leg-burning ascent followed by a brake pad-burning descent - in sum, not something that riding companion Sean (still with me) or I care to tackle first thing tomorrow morning or that Bob is willing to drive over again to deliver us to today's end point at Fort Ross, then again cross southbound toward tomorow's planned destination. In short, faithful readers, please forgive me my planned sin of omission, but discretion, in this case, is the better part of valor: I ain't doing it again in 2011.
Got off a little after 8:30 in fine, cool, sunny, dry weather with the northwest wind building and put the hammer down. Country generally gently rolling, but the coastal plateau is broken often by streams that required us to drop down to the left to cross them then grind our way back up to the right to our original level on the far side and continue on our way. Once we were on the plateau again, the wind was our friend, its 20-miles per hour-plus at our backs providing for long stretches of 20 miles per hour-plus bike speed. We stopped for liquids and, for Sean, a sandwich at the one store in the one-time lumbering boom town of Elk (there are few trees left on the coastal plateau now). Bob caught up with us during ur third hour and we topped up our fluids and agreed to meet in Fort Ross. The rest of the day was wearing and we were very happy to see the blue Jeep SAG vehicle on a pullout ahead around 4:30.
Sean found lodging and planned to eat in the very small town of Jenner and Bob and I continued down the coast and inland to a pre-reserved motel in Santa Rosa. We'll leave early tomorrow morning to rejoin Sean at about 8:30 and continue on our way south. Met no other riders today.
In trying to reconstruct my love affair with spoke ponies (Sean's term), I keep coming back to a vague memory of coasting down a sand dune road in Nantucket on a two-wheeler, with my parents, when I was probably five or six. At a speed of maybe twelve miles per hour, it was the fastest I had ever moved under my own power, and the thrill was overwhelming. I bought my first English racer three-speed when I was about nine and wore it out in the three years we lived near Oak Harbor. It was followed by a J.C. Higgins (an extremely shoddy Sears product) newsboy bike, used for that purpose both in rural Hawaii and in suburban Long Beach, delivering the afternoon papers. I probably saw my first ten-speed, derailleur bike in 1959 and when I realized my savings could cover the $100 purchase price of a Schwinn Continental in the summer of 1960, I was hooked for life.
Oh, as for that warped leather seat on the Continental: it bothered my grandfather a lot more than it bothered me. He warned me several times that it would do me bodily harm, but what did he know? He was 70 years old, and the bike he rode from his house in Buena Park to work as a volunteer blacksmith at Knott's Berry Farm had a seat like the one on the Farmall tractor he had taught me to drive when I was eight.
Thursday, June 30, 2011
Day 11: Garberville, CA - Fort Bragg, CA
Bike - Specialized Roubaix
Day's run: 67.8 miles
Total elapsed miles: 665.4
July 13, 1961 - Standish-Hickey S.P. - Anchor Bay
Got an 8:30 start after breakfast of Grape Nuts. Climbed over Coast Range - roads are uh-troshus, full of vertical and lateral curves and rough. Bought honey spread, loaf of sourdough bread and margarine in Ft. Bragg and lunched and dined on it (some left!). High fogginess and cool here. Replaced one spoke. NW tail winds should be with me from now on. Made 97 miles. Bought Raisin Bran for breakfasts to come. Am in private camp area in Anchor Bay. Sign says $1.50 per car. They haven't tried to make me pay yet.
Should camp at Stinson Beach S.P. tomorrow. About 15 miles from Golden Gate. Very mountainous route, they tell me.
P.S. Rear brake out of it. The cable slipped or was broken in mountains. Front one doing nicely. Maybe I will get it fixed in Frisco or just let it go 'til I get home.
Joined Sean for a breakfast burrito at 9:00 AM and got under way at about 9:40. Weather sunny but cool, breeze still favorable as we hit the freeway again. Bob joined us twice, once on the open road shortly after we stopped to talk to two heavily-laden German men, Stephan and a younger one, possibly his son, en route to Los Angeles. They wanted to know if it would be more advisable to continue south on 101 or to take Hwy 1 over to the coast. I suggested that if they were truly touring and not just eating up miles, then go to the coast. We did not see them again, so I don't know what they chose to do.
We caught up with Bob again at Leggett, where Hwy 1 begins, and topped up fluids. Sean and I took a little detour to see the famous drive-through redwood tree and photograph each other going through it. Then we hit the road in earnest, summiting the coast range at 1:45 and reveling in roughly 50 minutes of fast downhill work before hitting the last rise before the coast. After about 25 minutes, we were on top of it and in 10 more, back on the shores of the Pacific. The road is still full of vertical and lateeral curves, but no longer rough at all.
The next hour or so was of serious up-and-downhill work and then we pulled into the only country store on the coast before Fort Bragg, in a wide place in the road called Westport. There on the porch, resting and enjoying cool drinks and pizza, were three men already known to Sean from farther up the coast. Two were young middle-aged touring bike riders (both on Surleys, a very popular brand, from what I've seen) and the third, to my surprise, was a 18 year-old named Chandler, my surprise both because he was going down the coast from Seattle to San Diego on a four-foot long skateboard, with pack on back, and because the road repair traffic control man who I spoke to while waiting on 101 on approach to Crescent City had told me about him. Chandler told me he will be written up in "Cement Wave," a skateboarding magazine. I am not surprised about that part, at least.
Sean told Chandler he thought he was crazy. Chandler said he thought we were crazy. Sean countered, "But we're on bikes," to which Chandler replied, "But you guys are OLD!"
We pulled into Fort Bragg at about 5:30 and I found Bob in a comfortable room at the Best Western on the northern edge of town. Sean also checked in and we'll make space for him in the Jeep to drive to the eating, drinking and shopping venues a little bit south.
It's good to be on Rte 1 again. Part of the inspiration for my 1961 trip was a National Geographic article of that or an earlier year named "California's Wonderful One," memorable to this day for its deeply saturated Kodacolor prints of the great scenery that makes the route wonderful. The day's run also puts us at about the halfway point between the Oregon state line and San Francisco. This also came as a bit of a surprise to me because I have been working from detailed Adventure Cycling maps of sections of the coast only, not seeing the big picture. Also, getting over the coast range from Legget to the Pacific is a kind of watershed, in that it is physically the highest point on the whole route as well as some distance into the second, "downhill" portion of my ride. Day 11 is winding down; 9 to go.
Until tomorrow, in the neighborhood of Ft. Ross.
Day's run: 67.8 miles
Total elapsed miles: 665.4
July 13, 1961 - Standish-Hickey S.P. - Anchor Bay
Got an 8:30 start after breakfast of Grape Nuts. Climbed over Coast Range - roads are uh-troshus, full of vertical and lateral curves and rough. Bought honey spread, loaf of sourdough bread and margarine in Ft. Bragg and lunched and dined on it (some left!). High fogginess and cool here. Replaced one spoke. NW tail winds should be with me from now on. Made 97 miles. Bought Raisin Bran for breakfasts to come. Am in private camp area in Anchor Bay. Sign says $1.50 per car. They haven't tried to make me pay yet.
Should camp at Stinson Beach S.P. tomorrow. About 15 miles from Golden Gate. Very mountainous route, they tell me.
P.S. Rear brake out of it. The cable slipped or was broken in mountains. Front one doing nicely. Maybe I will get it fixed in Frisco or just let it go 'til I get home.
Joined Sean for a breakfast burrito at 9:00 AM and got under way at about 9:40. Weather sunny but cool, breeze still favorable as we hit the freeway again. Bob joined us twice, once on the open road shortly after we stopped to talk to two heavily-laden German men, Stephan and a younger one, possibly his son, en route to Los Angeles. They wanted to know if it would be more advisable to continue south on 101 or to take Hwy 1 over to the coast. I suggested that if they were truly touring and not just eating up miles, then go to the coast. We did not see them again, so I don't know what they chose to do.
We caught up with Bob again at Leggett, where Hwy 1 begins, and topped up fluids. Sean and I took a little detour to see the famous drive-through redwood tree and photograph each other going through it. Then we hit the road in earnest, summiting the coast range at 1:45 and reveling in roughly 50 minutes of fast downhill work before hitting the last rise before the coast. After about 25 minutes, we were on top of it and in 10 more, back on the shores of the Pacific. The road is still full of vertical and lateeral curves, but no longer rough at all.
The next hour or so was of serious up-and-downhill work and then we pulled into the only country store on the coast before Fort Bragg, in a wide place in the road called Westport. There on the porch, resting and enjoying cool drinks and pizza, were three men already known to Sean from farther up the coast. Two were young middle-aged touring bike riders (both on Surleys, a very popular brand, from what I've seen) and the third, to my surprise, was a 18 year-old named Chandler, my surprise both because he was going down the coast from Seattle to San Diego on a four-foot long skateboard, with pack on back, and because the road repair traffic control man who I spoke to while waiting on 101 on approach to Crescent City had told me about him. Chandler told me he will be written up in "Cement Wave," a skateboarding magazine. I am not surprised about that part, at least.
Sean told Chandler he thought he was crazy. Chandler said he thought we were crazy. Sean countered, "But we're on bikes," to which Chandler replied, "But you guys are OLD!"
We pulled into Fort Bragg at about 5:30 and I found Bob in a comfortable room at the Best Western on the northern edge of town. Sean also checked in and we'll make space for him in the Jeep to drive to the eating, drinking and shopping venues a little bit south.
It's good to be on Rte 1 again. Part of the inspiration for my 1961 trip was a National Geographic article of that or an earlier year named "California's Wonderful One," memorable to this day for its deeply saturated Kodacolor prints of the great scenery that makes the route wonderful. The day's run also puts us at about the halfway point between the Oregon state line and San Francisco. This also came as a bit of a surprise to me because I have been working from detailed Adventure Cycling maps of sections of the coast only, not seeing the big picture. Also, getting over the coast range from Legget to the Pacific is a kind of watershed, in that it is physically the highest point on the whole route as well as some distance into the second, "downhill" portion of my ride. Day 11 is winding down; 9 to go.
Until tomorrow, in the neighborhood of Ft. Ross.
Day 10 - Eureka, CA - Garberville, CA
Day 10 Eureka, CA - Garberville, CA
Bike - Specialized Roubaix
Day's run - 68.2 miles
Total elapsed miles - 596.7
July 12, 1961 - Burlington to Standish-Hickey
Got started at ten-15 and hot by then. Bought quart of milk and Grape Nuts and rolls for breakfast. Broke another spoke and replaced it. Rode 'til one o'clock when it got too hot so stopped and spent three hours in and around the Eel River. Rode from three to six-thirty and am now camped in Standish-Hickey S.P. Mosquitoes pretty bad. Cooked chicken-rice soup for supper. Redwoods very pretty. Time for campfiire gathering. I am at the junction of Hwys 1 and 101. I get back to the cool coast tomorrow. Over 100 here today. Tentatively plan to get home Wednesday night. Made only 47 miles.
As in 1961, today was everything that yesterday wasn't: dry and fast. Launched at 12:05 after a visit to The Blue Ox, a still-functioning antique woodworking facility that, among other things, produces custom gingerbread, filigree work and wood gutters for Victorian restorations, including of the California State Capitol in Sacramento.
The breeze was fair and the roads (mostly US 101) gently rising to ascend the downward course of the valleys of the Eel River and its eastern branch. Made more miles in the first hour (14, including a couple of miles of stop-and-go in the city (of 26,128, not what I said in my last post) did in the first two-plus hours yesterday, and ended up in Garbersville, at the end of the day's run of 68.2 miles, at 5:30.
En route, at about 2:40, I overtook another solitary rider on a freeway bridge, and we ended up hanging and riding together until our arrival at Garbersville. Having checked into our motel, the Sherwood Forest (a better establishment than last night's, with a certain rustic charm) on my recommendation, he joined Bob and me for dinner of pasta in an establishment a minute's walk away (in G'ville, nothing is more than two minutes' walk away - in fact, the main street ends in a turn-around that shunts you back toward the freeway entrance). My riding companion, Sean Kelly, an early-forties, free-lance, high-end bike repairman from Denver, Colorado, is on his first multi-day ride. He shipped his Salsa adventure bike from Denver, along with trailer, to Astoria, flew to Portland, and bussed down to Astoria. After the first day or so, he lost the trailer, commissioning a bike shop to ship in home for him. We turned out to be a pretty good match, with his extra 35-40 pounds of bike and gear traded off against my 25 years, and plan to meet tomorrow for breakfast and to continue our ride over the 1800-foot crest of the Coast Range.
Sean is plugged in, ordering the delivery of a dinner to his girlfriend back in Denver on his PDA while partaking of pasta and salad with Bob and me. After he apparently fixed the shifting and skipping problem on my Giant Innova with a few twists of an adjustment screw and some liberal shots of WD-40 into the shifters and cables, I invited him for a nightcap at the Branding Iron Saloon, two minutes away from our lodging.
Will make reservations in Fort Ross, back on the coast, in the morning.
Three things come to mind as different from 50 years ago:
--The roads are a lot better, with far more vehicle-bicycle separation.
--There's a lot more awareness of the threat of tsunamis. Every lowlying coastal town displays signs warning of the hazard and advising when you have gained enough elevation to avoid it. There was a massive tsunami on the central Oregon coast in 1700, triggered by a Richter nine earthquake in the Cascadia subduction zone, and it could happen again any day. Crescent City, our overnight place the night before last, suffered damage and deaths both following the Good Friday Alaskan earthquake of 1964 and the March 2011 Japanese quake and tsunami.
--The population is much more diverse. In 1961, if it wasn't brown and white or salmon, it wasn't food. Now, there's a Mexican restaurant in every town and village, including Garbersville. Last night in Eureka, our Mexican restaurant server was Cambodian (she said there are four Cambodian families in Eureka) and we drove by a Pho house this morning while looking for a bike shop and a Bank of America.
Until tomorrow.
Bob
Bike - Specialized Roubaix
Day's run - 68.2 miles
Total elapsed miles - 596.7
July 12, 1961 - Burlington to Standish-Hickey
Got started at ten-15 and hot by then. Bought quart of milk and Grape Nuts and rolls for breakfast. Broke another spoke and replaced it. Rode 'til one o'clock when it got too hot so stopped and spent three hours in and around the Eel River. Rode from three to six-thirty and am now camped in Standish-Hickey S.P. Mosquitoes pretty bad. Cooked chicken-rice soup for supper. Redwoods very pretty. Time for campfiire gathering. I am at the junction of Hwys 1 and 101. I get back to the cool coast tomorrow. Over 100 here today. Tentatively plan to get home Wednesday night. Made only 47 miles.
As in 1961, today was everything that yesterday wasn't: dry and fast. Launched at 12:05 after a visit to The Blue Ox, a still-functioning antique woodworking facility that, among other things, produces custom gingerbread, filigree work and wood gutters for Victorian restorations, including of the California State Capitol in Sacramento.
The breeze was fair and the roads (mostly US 101) gently rising to ascend the downward course of the valleys of the Eel River and its eastern branch. Made more miles in the first hour (14, including a couple of miles of stop-and-go in the city (of 26,128, not what I said in my last post) did in the first two-plus hours yesterday, and ended up in Garbersville, at the end of the day's run of 68.2 miles, at 5:30.
En route, at about 2:40, I overtook another solitary rider on a freeway bridge, and we ended up hanging and riding together until our arrival at Garbersville. Having checked into our motel, the Sherwood Forest (a better establishment than last night's, with a certain rustic charm) on my recommendation, he joined Bob and me for dinner of pasta in an establishment a minute's walk away (in G'ville, nothing is more than two minutes' walk away - in fact, the main street ends in a turn-around that shunts you back toward the freeway entrance). My riding companion, Sean Kelly, an early-forties, free-lance, high-end bike repairman from Denver, Colorado, is on his first multi-day ride. He shipped his Salsa adventure bike from Denver, along with trailer, to Astoria, flew to Portland, and bussed down to Astoria. After the first day or so, he lost the trailer, commissioning a bike shop to ship in home for him. We turned out to be a pretty good match, with his extra 35-40 pounds of bike and gear traded off against my 25 years, and plan to meet tomorrow for breakfast and to continue our ride over the 1800-foot crest of the Coast Range.
Sean is plugged in, ordering the delivery of a dinner to his girlfriend back in Denver on his PDA while partaking of pasta and salad with Bob and me. After he apparently fixed the shifting and skipping problem on my Giant Innova with a few twists of an adjustment screw and some liberal shots of WD-40 into the shifters and cables, I invited him for a nightcap at the Branding Iron Saloon, two minutes away from our lodging.
Will make reservations in Fort Ross, back on the coast, in the morning.
Three things come to mind as different from 50 years ago:
--The roads are a lot better, with far more vehicle-bicycle separation.
--There's a lot more awareness of the threat of tsunamis. Every lowlying coastal town displays signs warning of the hazard and advising when you have gained enough elevation to avoid it. There was a massive tsunami on the central Oregon coast in 1700, triggered by a Richter nine earthquake in the Cascadia subduction zone, and it could happen again any day. Crescent City, our overnight place the night before last, suffered damage and deaths both following the Good Friday Alaskan earthquake of 1964 and the March 2011 Japanese quake and tsunami.
--The population is much more diverse. In 1961, if it wasn't brown and white or salmon, it wasn't food. Now, there's a Mexican restaurant in every town and village, including Garbersville. Last night in Eureka, our Mexican restaurant server was Cambodian (she said there are four Cambodian families in Eureka) and we drove by a Pho house this morning while looking for a bike shop and a Bank of America.
Until tomorrow.
Bob
Wednesday, June 29, 2011
Day 9 - Crescent City, CA - Eureka, CA
Day 9 - Crescent City, CA - Eureka, CA
Bike(s) First - Giant Innova - 37 miles
Second - Specialized Roubaix - 43.3 miles
Day's Run: 80.3 miles
Total elapsed miles - 528.5
July 11, 1961 - Slept in this morning and got a very late start at 11:00. Replaced yesterday's spoke in Orick and broke another 5 miles later. Made disgustingly slow time most of day. Fixed spoke in Trinidad (last one). Reached Eureka at 4:10 and was directed to P.O. where I got mail and $20.00. Haven't broken first one yet. Really made time from Eureka on up here to Burligton S.P.. Averaged 15 mph uphill. Got ride last few mies on a flatbed truck uphill. S.P. full again. Squatted in a burned-out tree stump. Made popcorn, went to campfire circle. Took sponge bath, washed out wool socks.
P.S. Bought ten spokes in Eureka. Hope tires last 250 miles to S.F.
I recall well that cheating uphill ride. An advanced-middle aged working couple, the female half of which decided I should be a Mountie and repeated her suggestion several times in a somewht strident voice several times during my time in the cab.
Made disgustingly slow time on June 28, 2011 as well, also getting of at 11:00, this time after a visit to the local commercial aquarium. The first leg, beginning just a couple of miles from the motel, ridden in a light rain, was on the Giant hybrid and took me over the second-highest summit of the ride, a headland of about 1,250 feet. Going up was a grind and coming down was harrowing, with the pavement being wet, the shoulder narrow, the white fog line likely slippery and trucks and motor homes nipping eagerly at my heels.
Made it in one piece, however, and caught up wth Bob in the burg of Klamath, where I replenished fluids and ate a couple of breakfast bars. Several more long but more gradual climbs later, all on the interstate, Bob and I met up again in Orick for lunch.
Met my only other rider of the day in the cafe, Robert, 56, northbound. Robert's clothes, Robert's bike-trailer rig and Robert's person had clearly been well-used. Not only did Robert have no fixed itinerary, he paid no attention to speeds and days' runs. I don't know if he was literally homeless or not, but he clearly spent a lot of his life sitting on his bike and sleeping on the ground. We had a pleasant chat at the luncheon counter.
After one more climb and partial descent on the interstate I turned off onto the Prairie Creek Redwoods scenic route. After a grueling 30-minute climb I was rewarded with a gentle six-mile downgrade through redwood forests - wet, cool, verdant, sweet-smelling, it was exactly what a primeval forest should look and feel like.
I took another alternate, "scenic" route off the interstate through Trinidad. The first four miles were all right - gently rolling, little traffic. But then the road literally began to break up, with stretches of gravel and eight-foot wide pavement on the edge of a sea cliff, all in a dismal North Coast drizzle. I eventually made my way back to Interstate 101, with its smooth pavement, gentle grades and wide, bike-friendly shoulders and made the last 20 uneventful and, admittedly, monotonous miles to the watefront town (12,000-plus population) of Eureka in about 80 minutes, finding Bob in our budget motel (where we reconfirmed you pretty much get what you pay for) at 8:00 P.M.
Got two clear reminders I've made it to California: the first scent and sight of eucalyptus trees; looking for local TV news and getting San Francico
Bike(s) First - Giant Innova - 37 miles
Second - Specialized Roubaix - 43.3 miles
Day's Run: 80.3 miles
Total elapsed miles - 528.5
July 11, 1961 - Slept in this morning and got a very late start at 11:00. Replaced yesterday's spoke in Orick and broke another 5 miles later. Made disgustingly slow time most of day. Fixed spoke in Trinidad (last one). Reached Eureka at 4:10 and was directed to P.O. where I got mail and $20.00. Haven't broken first one yet. Really made time from Eureka on up here to Burligton S.P.. Averaged 15 mph uphill. Got ride last few mies on a flatbed truck uphill. S.P. full again. Squatted in a burned-out tree stump. Made popcorn, went to campfire circle. Took sponge bath, washed out wool socks.
P.S. Bought ten spokes in Eureka. Hope tires last 250 miles to S.F.
I recall well that cheating uphill ride. An advanced-middle aged working couple, the female half of which decided I should be a Mountie and repeated her suggestion several times in a somewht strident voice several times during my time in the cab.
Made disgustingly slow time on June 28, 2011 as well, also getting of at 11:00, this time after a visit to the local commercial aquarium. The first leg, beginning just a couple of miles from the motel, ridden in a light rain, was on the Giant hybrid and took me over the second-highest summit of the ride, a headland of about 1,250 feet. Going up was a grind and coming down was harrowing, with the pavement being wet, the shoulder narrow, the white fog line likely slippery and trucks and motor homes nipping eagerly at my heels.
Made it in one piece, however, and caught up wth Bob in the burg of Klamath, where I replenished fluids and ate a couple of breakfast bars. Several more long but more gradual climbs later, all on the interstate, Bob and I met up again in Orick for lunch.
Met my only other rider of the day in the cafe, Robert, 56, northbound. Robert's clothes, Robert's bike-trailer rig and Robert's person had clearly been well-used. Not only did Robert have no fixed itinerary, he paid no attention to speeds and days' runs. I don't know if he was literally homeless or not, but he clearly spent a lot of his life sitting on his bike and sleeping on the ground. We had a pleasant chat at the luncheon counter.
After one more climb and partial descent on the interstate I turned off onto the Prairie Creek Redwoods scenic route. After a grueling 30-minute climb I was rewarded with a gentle six-mile downgrade through redwood forests - wet, cool, verdant, sweet-smelling, it was exactly what a primeval forest should look and feel like.
I took another alternate, "scenic" route off the interstate through Trinidad. The first four miles were all right - gently rolling, little traffic. But then the road literally began to break up, with stretches of gravel and eight-foot wide pavement on the edge of a sea cliff, all in a dismal North Coast drizzle. I eventually made my way back to Interstate 101, with its smooth pavement, gentle grades and wide, bike-friendly shoulders and made the last 20 uneventful and, admittedly, monotonous miles to the watefront town (12,000-plus population) of Eureka in about 80 minutes, finding Bob in our budget motel (where we reconfirmed you pretty much get what you pay for) at 8:00 P.M.
Got two clear reminders I've made it to California: the first scent and sight of eucalyptus trees; looking for local TV news and getting San Francico
Monday, June 27, 2011
Day 8 - Gold Beach, OR to Crescent City, CA
Bike - Specialized Roubaix
Day's run - 58 miles
Total elapsed miles - 448.2
Time in saddle - N/A
Average speed - N/A
July 10, 1961 - Humbug to Prairie Creek Redwoods State Park
Was windy at first then quit for good. Very mountainous coast along S. Oregon. Highway badly torn up in places. Bought pancakes for breakfast. Met same family with trailer about five times. Three spokes broken on hard side, two on easy side. Reached border at 2:50 P.S.T. Got caught in mountains south of Crescent City after dark trying to reach state park. Met people in trailer again who were fixing flat tire. They fed me and I gave them tire patch, then they brought me last six miles. Will reach Eureka in the morning. Made 113 miles!
Ah, to have the energy and endurance of a 16 year-old again! Made only 58 miles today. Coast is still mountainous (surprise, surprise) but the beginning miles, over the last of the Oregon coast's 800-foot plus-headlands, wasn't all that bad. Asphalt was so fresh that I had to wait for ten minutes at the summit with cars and trucks to get around a paving crew on the down leg, and the average grade was probably no more than three to four per cent. Coast road was rolling, but worst part of the day's ride was the southerly breeze, the harbinger of the low-pressure area that was moving ashore and bringing the rain that is now falling on Crescent City.
Met up with Bob once a few miles before Brookings for an energy-bar-and-fluids replenishment
and again in Brookings proper for a sit-down Mexican lunch.
Crossed the "border" into California at 1:45 - two states down, three quarters of the last one to go!
This time, Adventure Cycling's advice to leave 101 for alternate routes was sound. Not that 101 was that bad, even if they were working on the shoulders, but the alternates were smooth, flat and bucolic. The coastal plain widens here for the first time since Astoria, and is extensively farmed. Smith River, the only town between the border and Crescent City, is, it turns out, the lily capital of the northwest.
Rode past the entrance to level five, "supermax," Pelican Bay State prison, also a major contributor to the local economy. Already met two hotel admin staff who are related to prison employees.
Saw only two other riders today, just a little way north of Brookings. Older than those I have so far met , but equally heavily loaded, the couple spoke a foreign language - Swiss German, I suspect - and exhibited no interest in speaking with me, or perhaps lacked the ability to do so.
As I have no interest in riding in rain and against wind tomorrow morning, especially with the chain-slipping problem on the fendered hybrid, we plan to sleep in and perhaps visit the aquarium a couple miles north of our Best Western lodgings until the rain tapers off and the southerly breeze blows out.
In 1961, I entertained myself by reading and vocalizing road signs backward, a totally useless skill I have kept alive to this day:
Pots rof snairtsedep
Tfel nrut no tfel worra ylno
Rewols ciffart peek thgir
Now I anagramize my first and last names, giving such results as:
Bret Rusatino
Rebus Orttina
and my favorite, Snout Rarebit
Hope to make it to, or just short of, Eureka tomorrow.
Until then,
Rustin Boater
Day's run - 58 miles
Total elapsed miles - 448.2
Time in saddle - N/A
Average speed - N/A
July 10, 1961 - Humbug to Prairie Creek Redwoods State Park
Was windy at first then quit for good. Very mountainous coast along S. Oregon. Highway badly torn up in places. Bought pancakes for breakfast. Met same family with trailer about five times. Three spokes broken on hard side, two on easy side. Reached border at 2:50 P.S.T. Got caught in mountains south of Crescent City after dark trying to reach state park. Met people in trailer again who were fixing flat tire. They fed me and I gave them tire patch, then they brought me last six miles. Will reach Eureka in the morning. Made 113 miles!
Ah, to have the energy and endurance of a 16 year-old again! Made only 58 miles today. Coast is still mountainous (surprise, surprise) but the beginning miles, over the last of the Oregon coast's 800-foot plus-headlands, wasn't all that bad. Asphalt was so fresh that I had to wait for ten minutes at the summit with cars and trucks to get around a paving crew on the down leg, and the average grade was probably no more than three to four per cent. Coast road was rolling, but worst part of the day's ride was the southerly breeze, the harbinger of the low-pressure area that was moving ashore and bringing the rain that is now falling on Crescent City.
Met up with Bob once a few miles before Brookings for an energy-bar-and-fluids replenishment
and again in Brookings proper for a sit-down Mexican lunch.
Crossed the "border" into California at 1:45 - two states down, three quarters of the last one to go!
This time, Adventure Cycling's advice to leave 101 for alternate routes was sound. Not that 101 was that bad, even if they were working on the shoulders, but the alternates were smooth, flat and bucolic. The coastal plain widens here for the first time since Astoria, and is extensively farmed. Smith River, the only town between the border and Crescent City, is, it turns out, the lily capital of the northwest.
Rode past the entrance to level five, "supermax," Pelican Bay State prison, also a major contributor to the local economy. Already met two hotel admin staff who are related to prison employees.
Saw only two other riders today, just a little way north of Brookings. Older than those I have so far met , but equally heavily loaded, the couple spoke a foreign language - Swiss German, I suspect - and exhibited no interest in speaking with me, or perhaps lacked the ability to do so.
As I have no interest in riding in rain and against wind tomorrow morning, especially with the chain-slipping problem on the fendered hybrid, we plan to sleep in and perhaps visit the aquarium a couple miles north of our Best Western lodgings until the rain tapers off and the southerly breeze blows out.
In 1961, I entertained myself by reading and vocalizing road signs backward, a totally useless skill I have kept alive to this day:
Pots rof snairtsedep
Tfel nrut no tfel worra ylno
Rewols ciffart peek thgir
Now I anagramize my first and last names, giving such results as:
Bret Rusatino
Rebus Orttina
and my favorite, Snout Rarebit
Hope to make it to, or just short of, Eureka tomorrow.
Until then,
Rustin Boater
Sunday, June 26, 2011
Day 7 - 10 miles north of Bandon to Gold Beach, OR
Bike - Specialized Roubaix
Miles ridden - 63.0
Total elapsed miles - 390.4
Time in saddle - N/A. Can't zeroize cycloputer
Average speed - ditto
July 9, 1961 - Florence, OR to Port Orford, OR
Got late start. Woman gave me two eggs and I cooked on their stove. Replaced spokes and changed tire. I hope I can buy one in Eureka. Front one wearing down. Wind still blowing. Fishing captain told me this is the second day of a seven-day nor'wester. Stopped in Coos Bay park and museum. On standard time here. Am camped in Humbug Mt. State Park six miles S. of Port Orford. Fine place and free for me. Had hot shower and (washed some clothes). Soup now cooling. Should reach California tomorrow. Made exactly 100 miles. A century!
About those spokes: I had bought my bike new the previous summer, but it was already pretty beaten up. In early March, 1961, a junior-year classmate, red-haired, freckeled Ralph, an "anything you can do I can do better" kind of guy, got wind of one of my weekend adventures and, assuring me he was up to the challenege, asked if he could join me on my next one. I suggested a day ride to the San Bernardino Mountains, about a 120-mile round trip. I said I would check with my parents if he could sleep over so we could get an early start, and all was arranged. We left well before dawn, flashlights on handlebars, and we were approaching Riverside at first light. Ralph, who was riding a nine-speed, three-speed, conversion street bike, said that he was having trouble keeping up, likely because his lubricating oil was freezing, and asked if he could ride my bike.
Accepting a lift in a pick-up, we finally reached the recreation area, but, finding it abandoned on this off-season weekend, quickly began our descent. A couple of hours later, as night was falling, we were rolling down the main street of Norco at about 30 miles per hour. I was on the left, Ralph on the right, when, suddenly, we saw the pavement narrow, in an hourglass pattern, and we were at a railroad grade crossing. Banking to the left, I stayed on pavement, but Ralph was doomed: I watched as the front wheel of my bike struck the near rail and crumpled, and as Ralph and my bike went airborne, doing a
full endo. Somehow, Ralph missed the far rail, and the bike, Ralph still in the saddle, landed on its rear wheel before falling on its side and coming to a rest.
Ralph, or his father, bought me a new front wheel, but balked at a new rear wheel or a new fork, which had been slightly bent to the left. We did not insist, instead trying to get the flat spot out of the rear wheel and retune it. However, we failed, and broken rear spokes, always on the more heavily-loaded right, derailleur, side, of the wheel, plagued me for the remaining lifespan of the bike.
The denouement of the crash story was even more interesting. The occupants of the police station just up the street from the grade crossing came to the rescue and took us in. Within minutes, however, they discovered that Ralph was a Missing Person. Sure that his parents would not approve of his accompanying me on my day ride to the San Berdoos, he had simply not told them of his intentions. The ride home with Ralph's father was memorable for its silence.
A great ride day. My growing seating discomfort apparently remedied by a saddle readjustement (tipping it forward a few degrees) and the wearing of two pairs of tights, I was a new man. Winds continued fresh and fair, the road gently rolling, and I made it from yesterday's end point to our first waypoint in a little over two hours. Bob met me there and we had a pleasant and informative visit to the Port Orford Lifeboat Museum before I partook of a light lunch at a Mexican cafe on 101.
The next two hours to our end point in Gold Beach were just as pleasant. Grades were manageable and I just took it easier, gearing down earlier and further and not worrying about keeping speeds up. The ride from where the highway curves inland from the coast and passes east of Humbug Mountain
was particularly rewarding. This stretch of coast was most unlike the area north of Florence. Far less traffic - a full minute could pass without my meeting or being passed by a vehicle, and while just as scenic, was both less daunting, less... intimidating, and less pretentious from the tourism point of view.
Met two other southbound riders after Humbug Mounain. Toma, originally from Bulgaria, and Adam, from Pittsburgh, PA. Like all other riders I've met, they were heavily-loaded, self-supporting, cruisers and had no fixed schedule. Adam planned to reach the Mexican border sometime this summer and Toma had to be in Las Vegas around the middle of August. They were also, like other riders, confused about where I was coming from - so lightly loaded - and where I was going, and I had to fill them in. Adam asked me what has changed most in the last 50 years. I said roads are far better but that there is about the same amount of traffic - just that before it was more cars pulling trailers, some campers, and nothing like today's RV's on the road. They, like me in 1961, were working hard at staying on budget by finding low- or no-coast campsites. Got their photo but can't upload just yet.
Pulled into the Motel Six just across the Rogue River (a great whitewater dory and jet boat venue) on final approach to Gold Beach at a little after 5:00 and, as agreed, Bob had already gotten a room. After a most enjoyable and highly therapeutic Jacuzzi we went for drinks and seafood (what else, pray tell?) at the Porthole, a minute two from our lodgings.
Tomorrow, by early afternoon (depending on my start time): California!!
Miles ridden - 63.0
Total elapsed miles - 390.4
Time in saddle - N/A. Can't zeroize cycloputer
Average speed - ditto
July 9, 1961 - Florence, OR to Port Orford, OR
Got late start. Woman gave me two eggs and I cooked on their stove. Replaced spokes and changed tire. I hope I can buy one in Eureka. Front one wearing down. Wind still blowing. Fishing captain told me this is the second day of a seven-day nor'wester. Stopped in Coos Bay park and museum. On standard time here. Am camped in Humbug Mt. State Park six miles S. of Port Orford. Fine place and free for me. Had hot shower and (washed some clothes). Soup now cooling. Should reach California tomorrow. Made exactly 100 miles. A century!
About those spokes: I had bought my bike new the previous summer, but it was already pretty beaten up. In early March, 1961, a junior-year classmate, red-haired, freckeled Ralph, an "anything you can do I can do better" kind of guy, got wind of one of my weekend adventures and, assuring me he was up to the challenege, asked if he could join me on my next one. I suggested a day ride to the San Bernardino Mountains, about a 120-mile round trip. I said I would check with my parents if he could sleep over so we could get an early start, and all was arranged. We left well before dawn, flashlights on handlebars, and we were approaching Riverside at first light. Ralph, who was riding a nine-speed, three-speed, conversion street bike, said that he was having trouble keeping up, likely because his lubricating oil was freezing, and asked if he could ride my bike.
Accepting a lift in a pick-up, we finally reached the recreation area, but, finding it abandoned on this off-season weekend, quickly began our descent. A couple of hours later, as night was falling, we were rolling down the main street of Norco at about 30 miles per hour. I was on the left, Ralph on the right, when, suddenly, we saw the pavement narrow, in an hourglass pattern, and we were at a railroad grade crossing. Banking to the left, I stayed on pavement, but Ralph was doomed: I watched as the front wheel of my bike struck the near rail and crumpled, and as Ralph and my bike went airborne, doing a
full endo. Somehow, Ralph missed the far rail, and the bike, Ralph still in the saddle, landed on its rear wheel before falling on its side and coming to a rest.
Ralph, or his father, bought me a new front wheel, but balked at a new rear wheel or a new fork, which had been slightly bent to the left. We did not insist, instead trying to get the flat spot out of the rear wheel and retune it. However, we failed, and broken rear spokes, always on the more heavily-loaded right, derailleur, side, of the wheel, plagued me for the remaining lifespan of the bike.
The denouement of the crash story was even more interesting. The occupants of the police station just up the street from the grade crossing came to the rescue and took us in. Within minutes, however, they discovered that Ralph was a Missing Person. Sure that his parents would not approve of his accompanying me on my day ride to the San Berdoos, he had simply not told them of his intentions. The ride home with Ralph's father was memorable for its silence.
A great ride day. My growing seating discomfort apparently remedied by a saddle readjustement (tipping it forward a few degrees) and the wearing of two pairs of tights, I was a new man. Winds continued fresh and fair, the road gently rolling, and I made it from yesterday's end point to our first waypoint in a little over two hours. Bob met me there and we had a pleasant and informative visit to the Port Orford Lifeboat Museum before I partook of a light lunch at a Mexican cafe on 101.
The next two hours to our end point in Gold Beach were just as pleasant. Grades were manageable and I just took it easier, gearing down earlier and further and not worrying about keeping speeds up. The ride from where the highway curves inland from the coast and passes east of Humbug Mountain
was particularly rewarding. This stretch of coast was most unlike the area north of Florence. Far less traffic - a full minute could pass without my meeting or being passed by a vehicle, and while just as scenic, was both less daunting, less... intimidating, and less pretentious from the tourism point of view.
Met two other southbound riders after Humbug Mounain. Toma, originally from Bulgaria, and Adam, from Pittsburgh, PA. Like all other riders I've met, they were heavily-loaded, self-supporting, cruisers and had no fixed schedule. Adam planned to reach the Mexican border sometime this summer and Toma had to be in Las Vegas around the middle of August. They were also, like other riders, confused about where I was coming from - so lightly loaded - and where I was going, and I had to fill them in. Adam asked me what has changed most in the last 50 years. I said roads are far better but that there is about the same amount of traffic - just that before it was more cars pulling trailers, some campers, and nothing like today's RV's on the road. They, like me in 1961, were working hard at staying on budget by finding low- or no-coast campsites. Got their photo but can't upload just yet.
Pulled into the Motel Six just across the Rogue River (a great whitewater dory and jet boat venue) on final approach to Gold Beach at a little after 5:00 and, as agreed, Bob had already gotten a room. After a most enjoyable and highly therapeutic Jacuzzi we went for drinks and seafood (what else, pray tell?) at the Porthole, a minute two from our lodgings.
Tomorrow, by early afternoon (depending on my start time): California!!
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